


Uncertain Intentions

by verasatrocity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesiac Draco Malfoy, Angst, Draco Malfoy Has Issues, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Vampire Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-01-15 05:24:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21248168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verasatrocity/pseuds/verasatrocity
Summary: After the war, with Lucius in Azkaban and Narcissa in France, Draco is alone. Wherever he goes, he is hated and discriminated against, so when he returns to Hogwarts in eighth year, he is prepared for the worst. He is not, however, prepared to become a Vampire. Draco is exhausted and scared and companionless so when the young, handsome new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Randall Knight, takes an interest in his Vampirism, he can’t help but accept Randall’s help. Little does he know, more lies down the road with himself and, not only Randall Knight, but the infamous Harry Potter.Eventual drarry, OC professor/draco malfoy, WIP





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the drarry zone. This is my first fic on this site so I barely know what I'm doing. You have been warned. Enjoy!

When Draco Malfoy opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was a sharp pain in the back of his head. Had he been concussed? He was a wizard. He wasn’t supposed to get concussed. Also, where the fuck was he? There were trees above him, and he seemed to be lying on a carpet of grass and dead leaves. Not exactly the most comfortable location to wake up in.

As Draco’s head cleared, a thought occurred to him. Why, exactly, was he lying on the ground in an unknown location? What had he been doing the night before?  _ Think, think.  _ Nothing. He hadn’t a single clue where he was or what had brought him there. The last thing he remembered was… a letter. From Hogwarts. He was supposed to return to finish his schooling in a couple of weeks and… right, right. Pansy had owled him to say she wouldn’t return, and Blaise… well, he didn’t talk to Blaise anymore. That still didn’t answer his question, though, or help him in any way to find his way out of wherever he was.

Draco stood up off the ground, brushing off the muddy jeans he was wearing. Since when did he own a pair of jeans? This kept getting stranger.

Surveying his surroundings, Draco found that there was a tower in the distance, just over the tall, ancient-looking trees to his left. That was a Hogwarts tower, most definitely. So he was in the Forbidden Forest, then. The forest that was forbidden for a reason, but Potter and his friends always ignored this particular rule, and no one ever seemed to care. Draco bet that if  _ he _ went into the forest on some sort of idiotic hunch, he would get reprimanded and someone would probably start a campaign to put him in Azkaban.

The tower was an easy landmark, and so Draco set off in that direction. It would be a bit of the walk though, for the forest was large and cruel.  _ Much like my father,  _ Draco thought with a grim sort of humor. It was good the bastard was in Azkaban. He had belonged there for so long, for so many reasons, many of which the Ministry would never know about. No one would know, because that was something that never left Draco’s head. He didn’t want to find out what would happen to it in the real world. He didn’t want to confront it face-to-face.

Fuck, the sun was bright. It was late August, still summer, technically, and though the sun shone the cold had already begun to bite. He  _ knew  _ it was cold, yet the temperature didn’t bother Draco in the slightest. He was cold, but he wasn’t cold at all, if that made any sense.

_ I’m not very entertaining, am I? _ Draco thought as he walked through the Forest. It had not been very long yet he had already bored himself to death. Thoughts were stupid and pointless unless being used for an academic purpose, which is something that cannot exactly be done when one is making their way through a great wooded region. 

It took a fair chunk of his life, but eventually Draco encountered the old castle that he had spent so much of his life in. Gods bless Hogwarts, but also gods fuck Hogwarts.

He found the entrance and headed inside, towards the Great Hall. There seemed to be a scent emanating from that direction, an enticing one, though nothing Draco had ever smelt before. The only way to describe it was magnetic. 

Sure enough, McGonagall— _ Headmistress  _ McGonagall—was sitting alone rather pathetically in her usual seat, munching on a dish Draco couldn’t recognise. 

Draco cleared his throat loudly. “Professor?” He called out.

Her shoulders jumped in shock and she looked up, squinting across the hall at him. He moved closer as to not cause too much of an inconvenience. People hated him enough already.

“ _ Malfoy? _ ” She exclaimed. “School does not begin for another week! More than that, even! What, exactly, are you doing here?”

He shook his head. “I don’t actually know. I woke up in the Forbidden Forest less than an hour ago. I have no memories of what led me to end up there.”

“Well. You  _ are  _ telling the truth, are you not? You should know, Mr. Malfoy, that lying about anything important has the potential to land you straight in Azkaban.”

“I know,” Draco responded. “I really have no idea how I got here, and I was  _ hoping  _ that you might help me.”

The professor got up out of her seat and approached Draco. “The Forbidden Forest, you said?”

“Yes.”

“It’s forbidden for a reason, you know.”

“I realise that. I don’t know how I got there.” Did he have to reiterate  _ every  _ point?

“Do you remember anything? Do you notice anything different?”

Draco paused for a second. “I can… smell things.” He said finally.

McGonagall raised her eyebrows and looked over the top of her spectacles at him. “Smell  _ what,  _ exactly?”  _ Gods, how did every conversation with the woman feel like a telling off? _

“I don’t know what it is but… it’s good. It smells like something I should eat.”

“And where might this be coming from?”

Draco chewed on his top lip. Would she put him in Azkaban for saying this? “You.”

Realisation washed over McGonagall’s face. “Come, now. I am taking you to Madam Pomfrey.”

He followed her blindly, only thinking that it was good she wasn’t calling up the Ministry. They moved through several corridors, eventually finding their way to the Hospital Wing. 

Pomfrey rushed forward immediately. “Malfoy! What are you doing back so early?”

“Poppy,” McGonagall said, her voice tense. “Do you suppose we could speak alone first?” She gave Draco what could be best described as a death stare until he exited into the corridor. What was all this about? Sure it was frightening, but it couldn’t be  _ that  _ bad. Right?

After a couple minutes of awkward hall standing Pomfrey pulled him back in.

“Open your mouth.” She directed. He complied. The woman could be a bit terrifying, honestly, not to mention McGonagall standing two meters away.

“Mmhmm, as I thought. Malfoy, tell me, what do I smell like?”

“Food.” Draco answered honestly. That was the simplest way to put it, though she and McGonagall smelt of so much  _ more  _ than food. The scent was of something he needed in order to survive. He didn’t know how he knew that, but it was true, he could tell.

Pomfrey shook her head. “Malfoy,  _ Draco,  _ have you heard of Vampires?”

Draco’s jaw dropped. Vampire? It couldn’t be. They were evil. Then again,  _ he  _ had been called evil too many times to count. Still. What would people think? Would they send him to Azkaban just for this? Was McGonagall going to expel him from Hogwarts as soon as the news sunk in? Gods, this couldn’t be happening. “Are you going to expel me?”

“Draco!” McGongall said, her tone sounding shocked that he would suggest such a thing. “You have always been an exemplary student, ambitious, top of the Slytherins, and you would have had a bright future ahead of you, if not for what your father had been involved in. If you are willing, I am quite open to having you stay at Hogwarts. I am a teacher, for goodness sake. I do not intend to prevent  _ any  _ student from learning, regardless of circumstances!”

“Then I can stay?”

“Of  _ course  _ you can stay. Though I suggest you make it count. We’ll have to find accommodations for your…  _ affliction  _ before the year officially begins. Shall we get to work?”

Draco nodded with eagerness. Never before had he been so elated to be at Hogwarts, not even first year. This was absolutely perfect. His new identity was still sinking in, but McGonagall didn’t hate him, and that was a step towards where he hoped to be.


	2. Welcome to Hogwarts

“Welcome, everyone!” McGonagall announced as everyone settled in at their house tables

The hall roared in response. Draco looked around at the Slytherins, his “family,” if you wanted to be sappy about it. None of them sat within a meter of him on the bench, though that meant there were a few third-year girls practically in each other’s laps a bit down the table.

Draco zoned out through the yearly introductions and sorting ceremony, as he had done every year for quite a while at that point, though this time it wasn’t intentional. He had meant to listen, to prove himself as worthy of staying at Hogwarts.

But the  _ smells.  _ The smells surrounded him. He hadn’t hunted in a few days, and hunger made them that much more enticing. Everyone smelled a bit different, but the one thing in common was that they all smelled like food. No, not food, not quite, but the version of sustenance he needed. A version that just happened to be blood. Gods, he was evil. He was a vampire, and he wanted to consume fucking people. This was the absolute epitome of evil.

Normal food soon appeared on the tables, and as the other Slytherins began gorging themselves, Draco found he couldn’t even bring the stuff up to his mouth. There was something purely unappetising about it, especially compared to the sweet smell wafting through the air. He supposed he  _ could  _ eat it, but what was the point? Did he even have a digestive system anymore? Besides, it had the appeal of eating a block of wood. 

Luckily, not a single other eighth year had shown up to go back to school, and everyone else was pointedly ignoring him, so there were no questions about Draco’s untouched food when the meal was finally over, and Draco could finally get away from the cauldron of scents to get some fresh air without anyone trying to talk to him. He had a desperate need to hunt.

~~~

Outside, in the darkness, Draco finally felt less displaced. Since he had started living at Hogwarts around two weeks ago, he had been spending more time outside, especially at night. A book in the library told him that this was a primal instinct, that Vampires were nocturnal by nature. Talk about inconvenience, considering classes started at nine.

Draco took a deep breath in through his nose, sorting through everything and trying to identify the scents of the best animals to drink. A deer was the objective. There were lots of squirrels, but he’d need a lot of them to feel full, and he felt guilty enough killing one animal. Every time he bit into their fur, there was a full choir of banshees in his head, screaming, calling him a murderer. He was. He was killing them, their lives were being exchanged for his own.

Attempting to ignore his self-reproach, Draco caught the scent of what he was fairly certain was a deer, and so the hunt began. McGonagall had given him full permission to enter the Forbidden Forest, as long as he kept from killing any rare magical creatures, and it was good that she had. That’s where the deer were, usually. 

Draco’s senses heightened and his speed increased as he loped into the Forest. Hunting was a source of shame, but it was exhilarating all the same. Somehow, though he was moving faster than he ever had before, so quick his feet barely touched the ground, and though it was pitch-black in the forest around him, Draco caught sight of a doe behind a tree. He could see every last leaf, every twig on the ground, too. The wind raced past his face, putting his hair in disarray, and he was free.

But only for a few more seconds. Soon he was tackling the deer to the ground, feeling it struggle until his fangs sunk into its neck, and it went limp. Another day, another death. Another day, another victim. Draco didn’t want to even consider how many he had indirectly killed.

Nevertheless, its blood was sweet, and Draco drank up every drop of it.  _ A deer,  _ he told himself,  _ only a deer. It’s fine to kill it.  _ Was it, though? Gods, he couldn’t even trust himself.

Draco left the corpse in the Forest, attempting to at least cover it with some dead leaves first. It felt wrong to leave a corpse out in the open air. Draco almost laughed to himself as soon as he thought that.  _ He  _ was a corpse in open air, after all. Why wasn’t anyone burying him? Where was  _ his  _ memorial service?

He took more time to get back to the castle. It felt good to be full. His head was clear, and the scents didn’t bother him quite as much. Above, the moon was half-full, almost exactly. Around him, he felt things moving through the trees, and the earth was practically pulsating under his feet. He knew he was powerful, he knew that that was what being a Vampire entailed, in part, but here, out in the night, he didn’t just know, he could  _ feel  _ it. The books he had read told him he was stronger than before, but only now was this strength running through his veins. Only now did he realise that he was different from before, so much different.

When Draco finally entered back into Hogwarts, navigating the halls to find the private room he had been given, he encountered a problem. A green-eyed problem.

“Potter? What are you doing up?”

“What do you mean what am  _ I  _ doing? You’re the one lurking!”

Ugh. Draco was  _ not  _ in the mood for this. Why did Potter have to ruin bloody everything? “I was in the library a bit late. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’d like to get to my room.”

Potter narrowed his eyes, calculating, but he let Draco slip by nonetheless, and continued on his way.

Once finally inside his room, a relatively small area taken up mostly by the classic Hogwarts four-poster bed, Draco let out an audible sigh. It was hard enough, being here. He was a Death Eater--well, a  _ former  _ one, but no one really cared about that part. And now he didn’t have Pansy. Or Blaise, or Vincent, or Greg, or Theo. They were all gone, and now he was alone. Abandoned. They all hated him, everyone did.

Draco let his head hang into his arms as he perched on the bed.  _ Coward,  _ he thought. A fucking coward, that’s all he was. A coward, a Malfoy, a Death Eater, and now a Vampire. Made sense that no one liked him. Gods, even  _ he  _ didn’t want to associate with himself anymore.

Draco washed up in the tiny, private bathroom connected to his room, and got ready for bed. It was late, the castle was quieting down. The new first years were probably dead asleep already, and he was tossing and turning. Vampires were nocturnal by nature, and that was bloody inconvenient. 

Eventually, hours later, Draco finally dozed off. That night he dreamt of sweet blood, his Dark Mark, and a mysterious pair of green eyes.


	3. Professor Randall Knight

“ _ Fuck. _ ” Draco swore aloud as he jumped out of bed, noticing the time. Classes started at nine, and it was eight-forty. He barely had enough time to get dressed, cast a  _ Scourgify, _ and brush his hair into something presentable. He couldn’t even gel it. Curse his vampiric internal clock! Though Vampires didn’t need much sleep, they still needed some, and it was annoying that these hours naturally seemed to be in late morning and early afternoon. At least he could skip breakfast, though a cup of tea would’ve been nice.

The corridors were almost empty by the time he left his room, save for a few people heading into their first classes. Fucking fuck, McGonagall had already given him a second chance, what with the whole Vampire thing, and he didn’t doubt how quickly she’d expell him if he began to fail a class.

Draco raced into Transfiguration, barely getting there on time. He sat down in the nearest available seat, one next to a dark-haired seventh year girl who didn’t seem to recognize him, thankfully.

As the teacher droned in front about the “expectations” he had for the students in the class that year, and how he wished for all of them to receive “top-level” marks on their NEWTS, Draco could feel the seventh-year looking at him. All through class Draco tried to pay attention, writing down what he deemed important, but the girl never seemed to look away. Was she  _ trying  _ to fuck him up? Did she hate him? Was she plotting his murder? Bloody fucking hells.

Class ended, finally, and Draco attempted to catapult himself out the door before he had to look his seatmate in the eye.

“Hey,” she said, reaching out and touching his arm as he turned away.

Reluctantly, Draco faced her. “Hello,” he responded.  _ Suck it up and be polite. _

“I’m Andra Farren. You’re Malfoy, right? Draco Malfoy?” She shot him a sweet smile.

“Er, yes.”  _ What did this girl want? _

“I didn’t know you were in this class. Your notes were good though, thorough.”

“Uh, thanks…”

Andra was still smiling a smile that definitely had some suggestive undertones. “I really hope we can work together this year. I don’t have any friends in this class.” She stuck out her bottom lip.

Was he supposed to feel sorry for her? Or something? “Sorry?”

“Oh, thanks! But it’s fine though.  _ Especially  _ if  _ we _ can spend time together.”

This was probably a bad attempt at flirting, Draco supposed. Or maybe he was on a different signal, not susceptible to it. “Yes, you seem… interesting.”

“Thanks! So I noticed from your notes that you’re pretty good at this class. And I feel like I’m  _ so  _ going to fail. Do you think we could study together? Maybe tonight, even? In the library?”

Was she… asking him out?  _ Hells,  _ no. “Sorry, Farren. I’m taking a lot of classes this year. I’ll be absolutely swamped with homework. It’s quite likely that I’ll never have time to tutor you. Ever.”

She physically recoiled, stepping away from him. “Oh. I’m sorry. I thought…”

Draco didn’t let her finish her sentence. He had places to be. Besides, why bother to be nice when everyone expects the opposite of you anyway?

~~~

A long day later, it was finally his last class of the day, Defence Against the Dark Arts. According to the whispers in the halls, the teacher was a newcomer in the field, a young, attractive one. The girls were absolutely raving. A few had even touched up their face and hair before walking into class. Draco didn’t understand what all the fuss could be. It was a  _ teacher,  _ for fuck’s sake, and when it came to the teachers at Hogwarts, young could mean over thirty. Besides, who could possibly be  _ that  _ attractive? Draco turned his attention away from the girls messing with their hair and walked into class.

Well fuck him.

The professor was definitely  _ not  _ thirty. He was so young he was barely distinguishable from his eighth year students. He was blonde like Draco, though his hair was a bit darker, and wavy, the front falling over his forehead in the most gorgeous way. He was tall, taller than Draco, and as Draco took a seat near the front, he caught Draco’s eye and smiled. Fucking hells, he was beautiful.

Class began, and the blonde professor took a stance at the front of the room.

“Hello, everyone,” he greeted. “My name is Professor Knight, and I am your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. I hope to prepare you for any and all encounters with the Dark Arts, and ensure that you know exactly how to respond.”

Draco knew Professor Knight hadn’t meant to, but that sentence made have the class not-so-subtly look at the Slytherin, who was now shifting in his seat.  _ Move on, move on. _

“All right, then. Shall we get started? We have ever so much to cover this year.” The mood of the students shifted as everyone took out quills and parchment, and Knight shot Draco a comforting look. Draco smiled back, hoping to convey the thanks he gave for diverting his classmates’ attention in such a smooth manner.

The period went by quickly. Knight had a certain way of captivating an audience, of making everything entrancing, even when all he was teaching was review from years past. Where other teachers would tell them to cast an  _ Expelliarmus  _ and then quietly judge them from the front of the room, Knight demonstrated, and then walked around the room, sometimes having a student cast it on him, and giving helpful pointers. It helped of course, that he was so gorgeous even the straight male students had a hard time keeping from staring at him.

By the end of class they had covered nearly every standard spell up through sixth year education, and everyone was laughing and having fun. Draco hoped it hadn’t been his imagination that Professor Knight seemed to be around his desk more than others, and that he had been looking right at Draco more than once.

Unfortunately, class was over too soon, and Draco began gathering his things, taking longer than necessary so that he wouldn’t have to leave.

“Draco,” Knight said as the Slytherin began approaching the door.

Draco tried not to smile too much. “Yeah?”

“I was hoping to talk to you. I have a hypothesis.”

“A hypothesis?”

“Let’s head into my office.”

Professor Knight held out a courteous arm in the direction of his private study. Draco obliged, and Knight shut the door behind them.

“You’re a Vampire.” His words were powerful, striking Draco, but they were not accusational as he had expected. They were, instead, said simply as fact.

“So what if I am?” Draco edged towards the door, ready to leave.

“No!” Knight exclaimed, noticing how uneasy his words had made the younger wizard. “I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry-- I’m just very interested in Vampires. I’ve read all the books, perhaps obsessively, so I know all the signs, but I’ve never met one in person.”

“There are signs?” Draco couldn’t recall any of his books mentioning any telltale signs besides the fangs, which slid away when he wasn’t drinking anyway.

“I suppose you must not be part of a greater coven, considering you’re here at Hogwarts. I’d love to teach you more about your heritage, if you’d let me. Tell me, is it new?”

Draco nodded. “Very. I’ve only been this way for a couple weeks or so. What are the signs?”

Knight smiled in a way that seemed almost guilty, like he’d been caught drawing cute boys by his best mate. “One of the major signs is, and I quote, ‘heightened levels of beauty.’ I believe it has something to do with attracting prey.”

Draco felt his entire face and neck warm. He hoped it wasn’t showing too bad. Had this attractive professor  _ really  _ just complimented his looks? This wasn’t real. Everyone was supposed to hate him.

“So… you think my beauty is ‘heightened,’ then? How do you know I haven’t always looked like this?”

“I don’t. I guessed, I supposed, based on that as well as how pale you are--meaning no offense, of course--and how you’ve been blinking, like the room was too bright for you.”

“Observant.” Draco observed.

“Why else do you think I got this job at only twenty-two? I was near the top of my class, actually.”

“I do suppose. Anything else you want to tell me about my, erm,  _ species _ ?”

Knight’s smile turned enthusiastic. “ _ So  _ much! There’s a lot you can teach me as well. I’d like to learn more about your fangs, for example. How do they work?”

“I’m- I’m not sure. They only slide down when I’m actively hunting.”

“So it’s part will, part reflex, then? Fascinating.” He stood in silence for a moment, surveying Draco. It seemed to be part scientific perplexion, part… something else. Their eyes met. His were green, like washed out seaglass.

“Um, do you think I’d better go?” Draco asked after a long moment of semi-awkward silence.

Professor Knight sighed in a disappointed sort of way. “I suppose you do have school work to do. We can talk more tomorrow, though?”

“Of course.” Draco readily agreed. He smiled, then moved towards the office door. “Goodbye, Professor Knight.”

“Wait,” Knight said right as Draco was about to exit. “Call me Randall.”

Draco smiled and felt himself blush all over again. “Bye, Randall.”


	4. Peacocks and Patronuses

The next day Draco sleepwalked through his classes, trying to focus on the material instead of the crippling nothingness around and inside him. The students ignored him and so did the teachers, most of the time. He yearned to be in the one place where someone looked at him without grimacing, talked to him without a hint of suspicion or sarcasm. That place just so happened to be Defense Against the Dark Arts.

It was rather strange, Draco figured, walking to class, that the only person he cared about in the slightest at the moment was a man several years older than him that he had met the day before. However, he was Draco Malfoy, and strangeness tended to follow him in every shape and form.

Draco entered the classroom and took his seat. Professor Knight--Randall--turned from where he was pacing at the front of the room and shot Draco a welcoming smile. Draco smiled back, though he could tell it was much weaker on him.

Soon, everyone had filed in and class began.

“Hello, class,” Randall began. “Yesterday, we started with something easier, more fun, to get you ready for the year to come. You have all shown that you are incredibly capable of casting spells from your past education, and I think it is time we move forward. My one hope for you all this year is that you will be able to cast a Patronus Charm by the time summer comes around. It will be harder for some and easier for others, but it is the mark of a powerful wizard, which I believe you all to be. The majority of wizards are completely incapable, so this will not be part of your final grade. We will be working on it throughout the year in between other lessons, and I would like to start today. Is there anyone in here who has cast one in the past?”

Three hands were raised on the other side of the room. Potter, Granger, and Lovegood. Randall’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“All three of you?” He asked, pure fascination in his eyes. “Were they corporeal?”

Potter nodded. “Mine’s a stag,” he said.

“I’ve got a hare,” Lovegood chimed in.

“Otter,” said Granger.

Randall shook his head with incredulity. “All three of you. When I was at Hogwarts not a single person could cast a Patronus at all, much less corporeal. Why, I didn’t have mine figured out until months after I graduated, and even then it was a struggle! And I teach the subject!” He shook his head again, smiling, and ran his hand through his hair. “Potter, could you demonstrate for the class, perhaps?” 

Draco almost sighed aloud. Of course he chose fucking Potter. Everyone loved fucking Potter, even Randall.

Potter nodded and stood up, brandishing his wand. He strode to the front of the class and held his wand in front of him. A determined look crossed over his face, and he called out “ _ Expecto Patronum!” _

A translucent silvery light began to escape from his wand, churning and transforming into a beautiful silver stag that began to lope around the room, then dissipating back into light and disappearing.

The class broke out into applause, awed at this display of beauty and power by one of the people they all admired most. Draco slumped in his seat, kicking himself for ever thinking that Randall might pay attention to him with Potter in the same room. It seemed that not even Vampirism was enough to make Draco more than a shape in the back corner.

“All right then!” Randall said, nodding at Potter. “How about the rest of you give it a try? Come on, that’s how you learn things, by trying them out!” 

The class shifted and murmured, people standing up from their seats.

“Focus on a happy memory as much as you can,” Randall directed, holding his own wand and closing his eyes, brow furrowed. “Then,  _ Expecto Patronum!” _

Randall’s own Patronus, a peacock, materialized in front of them sweeping through the room. Unlike Potter’s, the Professor’s lasted only a few seconds before unwinding and fading away. Again, the class applauded, and this time Draco joined in.

Soon, shouts of  _ Expecto Patronum  _ filled the room, though almost everyone in the cast couldn’t even get any sort of light to appear. Draco didn’t bother to try. To cast a Patronus Charm, one must have a vivid, happy memory to focus on. In Draco’s mind, those moments were few and far between, perhaps nonexistent. He stood quietly, letting everyone else take attention away from him.

The cacophony continued for much of class, and Draco didn’t even pull out his wand. Instead, he watched Randall pace about, directing students, guiding them to that one memory that was supposed to conjure the charm. Occasionally, he glanced over at Draco, raising a worried eyebrow, but every time he did so Draco looked away.

Eventually, they ran out of time and class drew to a close. 

Randall stepped to the front of the room and cleared his throat, demanding attention. “Students!” He called out. “It is time that we put away our wands and prepare to leave. No one new managed to conjure a patronus today, but that is expected. If even one or two of you learn by the end of the year, I will be incredibly proud, for it is exceedingly difficult. I will not require anything, but I do recommend that you work on this as homework, as the only truly proven method to learn anything is practice. Have a fantastic rest of your day!”

A bell signaled the end of class, and everyone gathered their things and left, many looking elated and energized by the prospect of a patronus. Draco refrained from leaving, dawdling to pick up his books, in hope that Randall would ask to speak to him again.

The blonde professor did not, however, give Draco any special sign or notice as he spoke with a dark-haired girl who was lamenting over something the Slytherin couldn’t be bothered to listen to. He took his belongings up in his arms and took a breath in, pulling his shoulders back. As he started for the classroom door with most of his dignity intact, a voice from behind melted Draco’s heart against his will.

“Draco!” Randall called for him.

Draco turned around and looked up at the man, trying to disguise his ambivalent hope with a weak smile. “Randall,” he said in a quiet, sequestered manner.

Randall returned the smile, though his was much more charismatic. “You didn’t try to cast a Patronus today,” he observed. “Was there a reason?”

Draco shrugged and averted his eyes to the floor. “Not specifically. I suppose I didn’t think I could do it. People like Potter cast those kinds of charms, not those such as myself.”

Randall’s expression softened. “Why not? Are you afraid your new…  _ capabilities _ could impact your magic?”

“No, it’s not that. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

He nodded, understanding. “Okay, it’s fine. Do you want to talk more about your-” he looked around to make sure everyone had left the room “-Vampirism, then?”

Draco nodded. “Yeah. I still don’t really know much of anything.”

“And I’m here to help you.” Randall looked Draco directly in the eyes, staring him down until Draco held his gaze, though it wasn’t intimidating, instead rather comforting. Every part of Randall’s existence gave Draco some reassurance. He was a living reminder that, perhaps, Draco was not truly alone.

“What do you think I need to know, then?” Draco asked.

“First of all,” Randall replied, “I think it’s important that you know about covens.”

“What?”

“A coven,” Randall repeated. “They’re like groups, communities of Vampires who live together, hunt together, et cetera, et cetera. I find it quite strange that whoever turned you didn’t take you to join their coven.”

“I’d understand if they didn’t want me,” Draco muttered. Even  _ Vampires  _ didn’t want to associate themselves with a Malfoy. It stung, but at this point he was almost numb to the constant rejection.

“Don’t say that,” Randall told him. “I know of what happened to you in the war. We all make bad decisions and, besides, I do think that your father deserves most of the blame.”

Draco’s jaw dropped open. He looked up at Randall, at those kind, fascinated eyes that he knew would stay with him for a long time whether in physical presence or not. “You… you know about my father?” He asked.

Randall nodded. “McGonagall spoke to me about some things, and there was a lot in the news as well. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. It must be a sore subject.”

“It is.”

The two looked at each other for a moment in total silence. Draco could hear the professor’s breathing, sense his heartbeat. He could smell him, too, that wonderful scent of prey that drew the Slytherin in even more.

“I-” Draco finally said. “I better go. I have to hunt.” He forced himself to turn around and leave the room, speeding up to a jog in the hall. It wasn’t until he exited the castle and was speeding through the open air that he realised he had left his books in Randall’s classroom. It didn’t matter. Draco would always be back.

A little ways into the Forbidden Forest, he picked up on a scent. He could tell the animal wasn’t very big, but it would be enough. The evening air rushing through his hair, Draco tracked it down, eyes closed, following his instincts.

Not after long, he pounced, tumbling on the leaf-carpeted ground as he tried to contain the rabbit, before swiftly driving his teeth into the creature’s neck. It twitched once or twice, then went still, sending a pang of regret through Draco’s heart. It felt so wrong to kill, but it was the only way.

He drank up the rabbit’s blood, letting it satisfy his hunger, then sat back on the ground, digging a half-hearted hole to bury the thing. He ran a hand through his hair to push it out of his face, only winding up streaking blood and dirt through the blonde. He whipped his wand out of his pocket and cast a quick  _ Scourgify,  _ feeling the rubbed-raw effect immediately. It was a tad uncomfortable, but at least he was clean.

With yet another death on his hands, Draco Malfoy started back towards the castle. He kept his eyes trained upwards, looking at the moon. It wasn’t quite full, but soon enough, he wondered, would there be werewolves in these woods with him? It would be nice, at least, to know he wasn’t the only one scared and alone out here, only wanting to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get up! I will be starting to update this every Thursday. Cheers!


	5. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shorter than usual. Sorry. On a brighter note I will be updating at least four times in the next two weeks so if you enjoy my shit writing that's kinda good! Anyway enjoy the soon-to-be drarry.

Over the next several days, Draco continued to speak with Randall quite often, learning more and more about himself each time. He spent his days wanting nothing more than to be alone in a room with that charismatic, intelligent, marvel/fantasy of a man. When he was with Randall, Draco no longer felt like the Malfoy and Vampire he was, condemned to live a life of misery. Instead, something filled his heart and spilled out of his eyes, something he supposed you could call hope.

One rainy morning, Draco was sat at his desk in History of Magic, attempting to listen to and take notes on whatever the old ghost was going on about, though it was dreadfully boring and subsequently quite difficult. At a point Draco gave up, putting down his quill and laying his head in his arms. He could just read up on the subject later and catch up, no need to actually listen.

Draco closed his eyes and listened to the faint sound of pattering rain coming from outside the window. His eyelids were heavy. Being a Vampire meant he needed less sleep, but he still needed some, and he had spent the previous night up reading. 

The Slytherin was about to drift off to sleep when a loud clattering from behind make him sit up straight in his chair and turn around. It was nothing but a embarrassed-looking redhead who had dropped a glass phial on the ground, but that wasn’t the only startling thing behind him.

Behind the redhead and to her left was Potter, his eyes trained on Draco, and looking like he had been staring for a while. As soon as Draco met the Gryffindor’s eyes he looked away, cheeks flushing pink ever so slightly. Draco turned back around and focused on his own desk, but he wasn’t able to regain the sleepy tranquility he had had before. Why had Potter been staring? Was he plotting something? Was he trying to get Draco kicked out of Hogwarts? Of course he was. Just like everyone else, he hated Draco, and it didn’t help that the entire world loved the git. If Potter wanted Draco gone, he would be gone. Fucking hells. Draco should never have come back to Hogwarts.

The next day, Draco was walking down the hall on his way back from the library, when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned around, but no one was there. Nothing except for a flash of Gryffindor robes disappearing around a corner. Fucking Potter. Of course it was fucking Potter.

Again, in Potions, Draco got up for some ingredients and there were Potter’s green eyes, following him as he went, cunning and accusing.

Then again, in the hall between classes, Potter was walking a short distance behind, though keeping too close for it to have been coincidental.

By the sixth or seventh time Draco noticed, he was fed up. Angry, but also scared. What did Potter want?

It was in Defense Against the Dark Arts that Draco finally had enough. He turned in his chair while they were again working on Patronuses, and Potter was staring straight at him, not even bothering to hide it. He didn’t even have his wand out, for Merlin’s sake! What could be going on in that git’s head that found Draco so fascinating he wasn’t even bothering to  _ pretend  _ to work? It was dreadfully infuriating. No, dreadful  _ and  _ infuriating.

After class, Draco went to speak to Randall, his trouble showing on his features.

Randall immediately gave the younger wizard a compassionate smile. “Draco?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

Draco sighed and leant on a desk. “It’s nothing. Just Potter.”

“What do you mean?” Randall’s brow furrowed, became more cross. His smile faded. “Did he do something to you?”

“Not without reason.”

“So he did.” Randall’s voice was flat. “You know I’ll help you if that golden boy causes too much trouble, right?”

“It’s fine.” Draco responded. “It’s fine. I deserve it. Back… before, I was a git to him. One year I even popularised pins that said ‘Potter sucks.’ If he hates me it’s my fault.”

Randall shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back. “No. We’ve all done bad things in our past, but we certainly don’t deserve hate for bad things we did when we were kids. None of us do, even if some were worse than others.”

“I was a Death Eater, too. My father wanted to kill him.”

“And you didn’t?”

Draco looked down at the floor. “No. I may be mean, but I’m no murderer.”

“You’re not mean.” Randall placed a hand on Draco’s arm, gentle.

The Slytherin looked up, startled by the touch. “You really believe that? I’m horrible.”

“No, you’re not. Stop saying that kind of thing. You have a future ahead of you, Draco. A bright one, too, with your amazing mind and new abilities. If you wanted to, you could probably take over the world.”

Draco stared at him, analyzing his features. He really wasn’t kidding. How was it that one so perfect could really trust in someone so flawed as Draco? It didn’t make any sense, but here it was, happening. 

After a moment of silence, Randall’s face broke from that gorgeous stare. He smiled quickly and stepped away.

Draco bit his lower lip. Had he done something wrong? Had something been misinterpreted?  _ Fuck. _

“I’ll… go.” Draco said, turning towards the door. Randall thought no higher of him than any other student. Draco was simply a pity project, that was it.

“Draco, no,” Randall said, placing an arm on Draco’s shoulder to stop him from leaving. “You’re fine. I’m sorry I stepped away. I was just… it’s strange to be caught in a Vampire’s gaze.”

Draco turned towards the other. “What do you mean?”

Randall ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m not sure exactly how to explain it. I felt like prey, but also… I don’t really know. Something more.”

Draco smiled slightly. “Maybe you are. Maybe you are something more.”

Randall smiled back, almost devilish. “I could say the same of you.”

Draco felt his cheeks heat up. He was shit at this. “So, um,” he stammered, trying to change the subject. “Do you think you could help me with my Patronus?”

Randall’s eyes lit up at the mention of his favourite spell, that kind of inquisitive look that was honestly quite cute, if he was being honest. “Of course!” The professor exclaimed, reaching for his wand. “What do you want my help on?”

Draco shrugged. “Everything. I’ve never been able to conjure even a bit of anything with the spell.”

“What memory are you using? Could you describe it to me, in as much detail as you can?”

“It’s this time with my mother,” Draco said, attempting to recall the entire scene. “I was young, around seven, I believe, and she was teaching me the violin. I played for a long time, though I haven’t picked one up in ages… Anyway, we were alone in the house together. My father wasn’t home at the time, and she put her fingers on mine to teach me the notes. I was sitting on her lap, and we were going over them.  _ A, B, C, D, E, F, G. _ ” Draco tapped his fingers against his leg, remembering how the notes were to be played. “It was nice, tranquil. I always loved those times with my mother where we weren’t worrying about my future or my father. Just… existing. Together.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Randall remarked. “I’m not sure why it wouldn’t be working for your Patronus. Are there any bad connotations, perhaps?”

Draco grimaced. “Many. For one, everything from my childhood reminds me of my father, even if wasn’t there.”

“And you hate your father.”

“No. I don’t hate him, I just… I just  _ wish  _ I hated him, but he’s, you know, he’s my father.” Draco shrugged.

Randall nodded. “That’s understandable. Maybe, instead, you need a newer memory.”

“I don’t have any good ones.”

Randall smiled, again placed his hand on Draco’s arm. “Then make some.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! You can probably expect the next chapter on Monday but don't quote me on that.


	6. What Are You?

One Saturday in late September, Draco woke up and decided he wanted to go to Hogsmeade. It was a completely rational decision. Everyone else did, so why couldn’t he? And besides, he needed to stop by Scrivenshaft’s for some new quills. While he was there he could also stop for a good cup of tea. Even as a Vampire the stuff was still a god-given delight, but whatever was brewed up at Hogwarts was quite subpar.

Draco got himself up and readied for the day in his private bathroom. It was still early, around four or so, so he could take as long as he needed.

Soon he emerged, his hair done up and his skin fresh, and he exited his room. He was an eighth year, so he was technically allowed to leave the grounds whenever he felt like it. Unfortunately, the weather was dreary and nothing in Hogsmeade would be open for another couple of hours. Such a shame. He could really go for a cup of tea right away.

Draco paced up and down the corridor for a bit, thinking. It was a habit he had developed back at the Manor, with all its grand emptiness. He found it was better to move, too, than to stay stationary when his thoughts were swirling around, making him fidgety.

Mostly, as he walked, his thoughts were occupied by Randall Knight. The Professor’s green eyes were at once kind and intimidating, and Draco yearned to see them again. Would he be awake yet? No, of course he wouldn’t. And besides, why would he want to see Draco. Draco was little more than a student and a thing of interest to Randall, he knew it. If Draco wasn’t a Vampire, he wouldn’t have even looked twice. Still, though, that couldn’t change how Draco felt. It couldn’t change the magnetism that lured him to the Professor. It was unfortunate that the feeling of one couldn’t decide the feelings of another. No matter how overtaking Draco’s feelings were, Randall would remain indifferent, and there was nothing he could do about it. It didn’t help that he was a fucking Malfoy, too. Even if Randall wouldn’t admit it, there was always the lingering fear that Draco saw behind the eyes of every person who still bothered to speak to him. Draco was a Malfoy, and no one wanted to be seen with a Malfoy.

“Are you okay?” A voice echoed through the hall.

Draco stopped his neurotic pacing and looked up. It was Granger, peering at him with a concerned expression. “Granger,” he replied, composing himself. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Both stared at each other for an uncomfortable minute. Draco gauged how long it would take him to pull out his wand from his pocket. He could beat Granger.

The Gryffindor finally gave in, tossing her hair over her shoulder and walking away, a book tucked under her arm. As he watched her leave, Draco realised that she had probably just woken up early and decided to go to the library. And it had made him look like the psychopathic Malfoy everyone thought he was. Fuck.

Soon, the sun rose in the sky and Hogwarts began to wake up, footsteps echoing in the hallway as Draco moped around in his room. Merlin, he needed some tea.

The Slytherin pulled on a black cloak for the cold weather and left the castle, starting down the path to Hogsmeade. As wind blew through the trees he caught scent of what was likely a doe, tempting him to hunt. He managed to keep himself, reminding the more primitive part of his brain that he had just hunted the night before, and kept forward to Hogsmeade.

The village was already bustling as Draco approached. A couple of fourth years laughed loudly at some joke or other as they ran through the streets, one sucking on a sugar quill and the other with a small bag of Chocoballs in her hand. Honeydukes did sell blood-flavoured lollipops, didn’t they? That would have to mean some Vampire clientele around this area. Could they have been the ones who turned him?

Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shoppe was near, and Draco licked his lips at the sight of it. Though, of course, something had to go wrong. Standing not far from the entrance was Potter and his friends. Draco wouldn’t be able to get into the shop without them seeing him. But he  _ really  _ needed that cup of tea. It was worth the risk.

Draco kept his head down and pulled his cloak more tightly around him as he approached, praying to the heavens that he wouldn’t be recognised. When he was just a couple of meters away from the door, Potter’s voice came from behind him. “ _ Malfoy? _ ”

Draco sighed and turned around, taking off his hood. “What do you want, Potter?”

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Potter responded, an air of nobility in his voice.

“But I  _ did  _ expect to see you,” Draco muttered. He couldn’t take it anymore. Potter was everywhere all the time and it was bloody terrible.

“What do you mean?” Potter said, adjusting his glasses.

“You’re fucking stalking me!” Draco spat. He had a solid month of pent-up frustration at the Gryffindor, and had to hold back from punching the git.

Granger took Weasley by the arm and pulled him away. “I think we better leave you alone, Harry,” she said with an apologetic look. Potter nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off Draco.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen you watching me,” Draco continued. “In class, in the corridors, it’s bloody infuriating! What the absolute  _ fuck  _ is wrong with you? I’m not doing anything wrong! All I want to do is finish my education and live my fucking life, but of course  _ you  _ don’t think that, because I’m Draco Malfoy so I always have to be plotting something, don’t I?”

“That’s not why I’m watching you,” Potter responded. He was somehow completely level-headed. “When we came back to Hogwarts…” he paused and looked around. Sure enough, several people were watching their exchange. Potter ushered Draco into the small space between two buildings before continuing to speak. “When we came back to Hogwarts you seemed different. You’re even paler than you’ve been in the past, and your looks are more… striking. Then I realised that you were almost never at meals, and when you were you didn’t eat anything. So… I started watching you more closely. I guess I was trying to catch you running off somewhere or doing something no one was supposed to see. My question, I guess, is what  _ are  _ you?”

“I’m a wizard.” Draco answered, unwavering. “Has it occured to you, perhaps, that maybe I haven’t spent much time outside and don’t want to eat somewhere where you’re fucking staring at me?”

Potter opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Draco turned and left back towards the castle. He didn’t want to hear what that twat had to say.

Draco stormed back into the castle and, instead of taking a right to lead him to his room, he took a left and hurried towards the now familiar room. Hopefully Randall would be there.

He knocked on the heavy door and it swung open after not more than a moment. Randall’s surprised expression quickly turned to one of welcoming as he saw Draco.

“Draco,” he greeted, beckoning him in the room and closing the door. “I’m glad to see you of course, but is there a particular reason?”

Draco sighed. “Not really. Sorry. I can leave.”

“No, no, I insist you stay.” Randall responded. “You look upset. You can tell me anything, you know.”

“It’s just Potter,” Draco responded. “I was in Hogsmeade to go to Madam Puddifoot’s, and I sort of lost it and left. And I didn’t even get my tea!”

Randall laughed for a moment, but quickly regained a solemn expression. “Did Potter do something? If he did something to you I’ll have him pay.”

“He’s just been following me around recently. He noticed that I don’t eat and he asked me about it. He knows I’m not human.”

“You’re still human,” Randall assured him. “You’re a better version of human, even. Some people would give up their firstborn to be a Vampire. I can’t say I wouldn’t, myself.”

“What made you so interested in Vampires in the first place?” Draco asked, suddenly curious. “Was there something that sparked it?”

“You see, my uncle raised me. I loved him like a father, until he was turned into a vampire while I was away in France. When I returned home, it was to his dead body. I never got to say goodbye. He was killed for something that was out of his control! That would be like killing me for being gay!”

Draco’s mouth dropped open. It made him hate himself even more, but the main thing he had taken away from Randall’s monologue was that he might have a chance with the gorgeous professor.

“Oh, sorry,” Randall apologised as he saw Draco’s expression. “I just came out to you, didn’t I? You’re okay with that?”

Draco nodded. “Yes. I am, too, actually.”

Randall’s mouth curved into a half smile. “Wonderful. Not that I really want to change the subject, but there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. You are the best chance I have at studying Vampires close up, perhaps the best chance I’ll ever get. Would you be willing to help me with an independent study? It’s something that’s never been done, monitoring the vitals and habits of a Vampire, and I’m hoping to maybe find an alternative to blood while I’m at it. That would mean you wouldn’t have to hunt anymore. So, will you do it?”

“Yes,” Draco responded, practically giddy. This study would mean more time spent with Randall, and if the outcome was that he wouldn’t have to kill any more innocent creatures it was worth it even more so. 

“Thank you so much, Draco.” Randall smiled in an almost manic way. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I can't either,” Draco responded, though he was sure they meant it in different ways. As he looked into Randall’s eyes, his heart soaring, he had the feeling that maybe the world wasn’t such a dark place after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter might be posted on Thursday but who really knows? Thanks for reading!


	7. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the edited/updated version of a chapter that was written so badly it put me off of writing for several months. Hopefully it's better now.

Draco was having a rather decent life for once. For the past week or so, he had been seeing Randall daily and helping the Professor along with his study of Vampires. After classes, Randall would take Draco’s vitals, which were basically the same every time no matter what or how much he had hunted that day. His heart rate was always zero, his body temperature was never much greater than the temperature of the room, and he breathed just out of habit. It didn’t take long to do everything that was actually related to the study, so they would often end up discussing a topic completely unrelated. One instance Draco was particularly fond of was when they had spent hours debating the legitimacy of Arithmancy, ending up sitting on a desk together, their hands on top of one another’s.

Life took a turn for the worse one night when Randall was swamped with work and barely had any time to speak with Draco, who afterwards went out hunting only to return having consumed but a couple of squirrels, not even close to enough to quench his hunger. He was in a foul mood and wanted to lie on his bed and wallow in his misery, but of course that was when Potter decided to show up, seemingly waiting for Draco as the Slytherin exited the library after completing an essay.

“Potter,” he said, emotionless. “Mind explaining why you are so pointedly blocking my path?”

Potter was just as stone-faced, but Draco could see his fingers fidgeting at his sides. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “I still don’t think you’re human.”

Draco gritted his teeth. “ _ Move,  _ Potter.”

“You’re not denying it,” Potter observed. He was too pleased with himself. “How long have you been… whatever you are? Did it start during the war? Did Voldemort do this to you, or is it some kind of pureblood shite?”

Draco winced at the mention of the Dark Lord’s name. “I’m not one of them anymore,” he said, unable to maintain his guise of unfeeling. “Don’t equate me to those Death Eaters.”

“You have the Dark Mark, don’t you?” Potter asked. “I can tell you’re up to something, Malfoy, and don’t think I won’t figure it out. You’re still one of them, still just a fucking Death Eater.”

Draco felt anger rise in him, flooding through his veins like the blood he wished he still had. “Don’t  _ fucking  _ call me that!” He spat.

Potter recoiled from this sudden burst of anger. “Malfoy?” He said as Draco stormed past him. “I- I didn’t… you’ve really changed?”

_ Changed,  _ Draco thought.  _ Wonderful word choice there, Potter.  _ “I never wanted to be one of them,” he muttered, stopping just past Potter. “I never asked to be part of that war.”

Potter shook his head and laughed without heart. “None of us did. Don’t think you’re special just because you were pulled into something you wanted no part in. I’m the ‘Boy Who Lived,’ remember? Made a saviour at bloody  _ eleven. _ ”

Draco grimaced. Right. Potter had a point there. “At least no one hates you,” Draco said, managing to keep his voice steady.

“Yeah, except for that one extremely powerful wizard who kept trying to kill me. And, you know,  _ you _ .”

Draco winced. “I don’t hate you,” he disclosed, keeping his gaze locked with Potter’s green eyes. “I don’t like you very much, but I certainly don’t hate you.”

Potter scoffed. “What about literally everything you’ve said to me since we met?” He pointed out.

“Well-- you’re Harry Potter! You’re famous and powerful and if you wouldn’t be my friend I still wanted you to pay me attention  _ somehow. _ ”

“You wanted  _ my  _ attention?” Potter asked incredulously. “You had everything, though!”

“And now I don’t.” Draco said. “Obviously it wasn’t built to last.”

Potter stared at him for a moment. Analytically, but also with sympathy. Like he had so many times before, Draco wondered what could possibly be going on in that boy’s head. No doubt he was confused. From years of observing Potter, Draco knew that once the Gryffindor decided on something, it took a lot to change his mind, and right now his beliefs were under scrutiny. If Draco wasn’t completely terrible, then everything had to be rethought.

Draco sighed. He didn’t have time for this. “Goodnight, Potter. I’ll leave you to your internal musings.”

As Draco walked away, however, Potter called out after him. “Wait!”

Draco turned around. “What do you want, Potter?”

“I…” The expression on the black-haired boy’s face was pained. “I’m sorry.”

Draco scoffed. “Of course you are. You’re Harry Potter. You have to do the right thing. I don’t care if you hate me, though.”

“I don’t hate you.” Potter said. “You said you don’t hate me, and I really have no right to hate you. We were kids back then, and we can put all that stupid shite behind us. I hope we can. I hope you can.”

“I’m glad we have all this figured out then.” Draco said.

Potter grinned at that. It wasn’t a smirk, it wasn’t forced, it was completely genuine. In other words, it scared Draco half to death. The one thing he could always count on was being able to torment the Gryffindor git, but what now? If they didn’t hate each other anymore but they also weren’t friends, then what were they? Would they simply coincide as two people, not affecting each other in any way? After all these years keeping a constant lookout for Potter at every turn, it seemed impossible. It  _ was  _ impossible, surely.

Then, because of course, Potter stuck out his hand. The smile on his face remained. “Remember when you asked if we could be friends?”

The eloquent bastard. “Potter, I…”

“What? I thought it might be a good idea for us to start over.”

“Fine.” Draco shook his hand. “Let’s start over. Long overdue, I think. Starting over, though, does not make us friends. I still don’t trust you.”

Potter’s smile did not diminish. “That’s fine. I’m just... I’m just glad, you know?”

Draco nodded curtly and left, heading to his room. Fear and anxiety coursed through him, but stronger than that was some kind of insurmountable happiness. He didn’t understand it, but honestly he had given up on understanding so many things.

That night, as he lay in bed, Draco felt strangely at peace. His stomach was in knots, of course, but something in his head had cleared away, and the world seemed a little more in focus.   


The next day in Defense Against the Dark Arts Draco couldn’t pay attention as Randall went on a long-winded lesson about Dementors. Usually every other aspect of Randall was enough to keep him interested even when he knew all the information being taught, but for some reason today his mind kept drifting. The rain falling outside the window stole his attention and he rested his head in his arms, tuning into the soft patter, barely audible in the classroom.

Weather was quite gorgeous. One good thing that had come, at least, from distancing himself from his family, was his greater appreciation for the smaller things in life. Who cared about legacy when one had the rain? Well,  _ he  _ did, honestly. It still mattered. He could pretend it didn’t but everything he had lost still mattered and that was the worst part of it all.

“Draco?” A voice asked, interrupting his musings. Draco looked up to see Randall standing above him, looking down with a concerned expression.

Draco quickly sat up straight, holding his quill in his hand. “Professor,” he murmured, not daring to look Randall in the eyes. They had developed a fairly close relationship at this point, but he hadn’t expected to be acknowledged in class, in front of everyone, especially with that look. That look had made his heart melt but had also petrified him. It was clear in Randall’s eyes that he really cared.

Randall moved on after a second and continued teaching, though not straying far from Draco. He could feel eyes staring at him, keeping his own straight ahead. It was amazing that Randall was paying attention to him, yes, it was all he had wanted since the first time he had seen the man, but something felt off. School had started less than two months ago and already Draco was almost as close to Randall as he had been to Pansy, and that friendship had taken years to cultivate. Had their relationship moved too fast? Draco sighed. This wasn’t something he felt like thinking about.

After class was over and Randall took his vitals, Draco left earlier than usual to go to his room and read a book or something. He was too tired to do anything else. The world hated him, however, and as he shuffled through the hall he was confronted by none other than Hermione Granger.

“Granger,” he greeted with icy hostility.

“Malfoy,” she replied. The tone of her voice told him that she didn’t want to be in this conversation any more than he did. Why in bloody hell was she talking to him, then?

“What do you want?” Draco asked, eager to get her out of his way.

She approached him closer. “Can we talk about Harry?” She asked.

Had Potter told her of their encounter the previous night? Draco fucking knew he couldn’t be trusted. “What about him?”

“I just wanted to know if you know what his… preoccupation with you might be. Harry is  _ always  _ staring at you. He’s hardly paying attention in half his classes and his marks are going to suffer!”

Ah, so that was it. Draco had to respect her concern for academics. “Potter has always been a bit obsessed with me, has he not?” Draco responded. It was painfully true. The two had spent essentially all of their younger years spying on each other.

“He has,” Granger admitted, “but now it’s starting to get out of hand. He’d rather stare at you than listen to a lecture! When I asked him about it all he did was mumble something incoherent and continue watching you.”

Fucking Potter was still suspicious of his every move. That handshake hadn’t meant anything to him. Draco internally punched himself for trusting the git on any level. “I have no idea why, Granger. If you want to know, maybe hassle your friend a little more before moving on to his enemy. Goodnight.” With an acceptably dramatic flourish of his robes, Draco left and stalked to his room, collapsing onto his bed as soon as he got in. And, to make matters worse, he didn’t even have a book. Fucking hells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to start updating again, so look out for new chapters!


	8. To Be a Fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to AshesGleamandGlow for giving me the idea for part of this chapter.

If Malfoy wasn’t lying—which he probably was—then whatever was up with him wasn’t due to his family or Voldemort or some bloody tradition. What was it, then? He wasn’t the same as he had been in the past seven years they had known each other, Harry knew that for certain. Were his new good looks only a result of growing up? Or had he always looked this way and Harry just hadn’t noticed it? It couldn’t be the latter—as much as he hated to admit it, Harry had spent so much time throughout the years looking at Malfoy that he knew the Slytherin had changed somehow.

“‘Night, Harry,” Hermione yawned, walking past him on her way to bed.

Harry jumped up from his seat. “Wait! ‘Mione, could you do some research for me?”

She looked back at him, surprised. “For what? I’m not going to do any of your assignments for you, you know.”

“No, it’s… for something else. Could you find out any reasons someone might suddenly… change?”

“Like how?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe they all of a sudden become very good looking? Or something?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Is this related to your obsession with Malfoy, by any chance?”

“No?”

“If I do this will you pay attention in class again?”

“Yes! Absolutely!” Harry promised. “So you’ll do it?”

“I’ll go to the library tomorrow morning,” she sighed, giving in. “I’ll let you know at lunch if I find anything.”

“Thanks, ‘Mione. You’re the best.” Harry gave her a winning smile.

She shook her head as she walked away. “Sometimes I honestly don’t know why I put up with you.”

~

Despite his promise to Hermione, Harry ended up with absolutely no clue what was taught in Herbology the next morning. He spent the class on the edge of his seat, heart beating fast with anxious vigor. Good thing Neville was willing to do all the work, or they wouldn’t have gotten anything done.

As soon as class was over he began walking at a pace that was definitely a normal amount of fast, finding his way to where he, Ron and Hermione always sat together, a nice little corner of the courtyard. Fortunately, she was already there.

“Harry,” she said as he sat down next to her, opening a large book on her lap. “I think I’ve found what you’re looking for.” She pointed to a drawing of a gorgeous figure, almost human but undeniably different. “Veela.”

“But Malf- but that’s not a sudden change,” Harry interjected.

Hermione shook her head. “Not usually, no, but there’s this thing—creature inheritance. It’s extraordinarily rare but there’s still the chance that that’s what has happened to Malfoy.”

“I never said anything about Malfoy!” Harry protested, though he knew it was futile.

Hermione continued on without acknowledging him. “How it works is when someone has reached adulthood—so about our age—they come into a sort of inheritance, passed down through families but skipping some generations. It’s a sudden transformation, lasting only minutes. One moment you’re normal and the next you’re not even the same species. The most common inheritance to come into is Veela.”

“I thought Veela could only be women.”

Hermione shrugged. “The rules for creature inheritance are different and not quite understood yet. A male Veela is unlikely, but anything is possible, technically.”

“Veela,” Harry repeated, trying to absorb the concept. It made sense, what with the suddenness of Malfoy’s change. His pale white skin resembled a Veela for certain, and though his hair wasn’t exactly golden it  _ was _ blonde _ , _ and that seemed close enough. Veela, yeah. Malfoy was definitely a Veela. Now all he had to do was get the git to admit it. 

~

“That’s it for today,” Randall said as they neared the end of class. “Go ahead and pack up your things.”

Draco stacked his books and waited patiently. Randall had something important for him after class. These were the best moments, the ones filled with anticipation to see Randall. It almost made him feel happy.

A bell sounded and the people around Draco began to file out the door. The Slytherin himself continued to stay sitting down, pretending not to notice Potter’s suspicious eyes watching him as he and Granger left. Based on recent information Draco saw Potter as less of an utter git than before, but he was still quite the arsefucking weasel. A sort of literal weasel if he ended up married to the redheaded girl. Or the boy, for that matter.

Draco tried to suppress a smirk, quite entertained by his thoughts. He didn’t even notice that Randall had walked up beside him until the Professor spoke.

“What’s with the grin?” Randall asked, wearing one of his own.

Draco shook his head and stood up. “Nothing,” he replied, “just my strange consciousness.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘strange,’ exactly,” Randall mused. “I would personally love to see how that brain of yours works. Such a beautiful face can’t have an ugly mind to go with it, can it?”

Draco’s smirk turned into a true smile and he felt his face start to heat up, spreading to his neck. He was well aware that his feelings for Randall were at least somewhat mutual, but it still struck him every time the green-eyed bastard said anything remotely resembling a compliment.

“Anyway,” Randall said, looking pleased with himself as Draco turned tomato-red, “I have something to show you. It’s in my office. Come.” He set off towards the small room near the back, Draco following at his heels.

Randall rummaged around in a drawer for a moment before turning around with a flourish, a vial in his hand. “Voila!”

Draco stared blankly. The vial contained a red liquid that resembled blood, but there was something about it that seemed off. Draco couldn’t place exactly what that factor was. “Um,” he said after an awkward second, “what is it?”

“Blood,” Randall said, looking with triumph at the vial he held. “Well, fake blood. I made it myself.”

“Why?” Draco asked, still confused.

“It’s an alternative. A way for you to stay nourished without having to hunt. I know it’s degrading for someone such as yourself to have to act like an animal to stay alive.”

“That’s…” Draco started. Approximately seven quintillion thoughts flooded his head, ranging from feeling insulted to wanting to worship Randall like the god he deserved to be. “Thank you,” he settled on after a moment of consideration. “This will really be so helpful to me. Thank you so much. If this works I’ll be able to go back to living an almost normal life. You’re amazing, Randall.” He smiled at the Professor, then allowed his eyes to drift back to the vial. It was full of opportunity, certainly, but something about it still didn’t seem quite right. He shook off the feeling. No. This was fine. This would turn out great.

Randall pressed the vial into Draco’s hand, and the Slytherin felt an electric shock go through him as their skin briefly touched. Randall then crouched down and pulled a crate out from under his desk. It was filled with several large jars of the red liquid, sloshing around like an upset stomach as the crate moved. “So the vial was mostly for show,” Randall admitted, hoisting one of the jars into his arms. “I’ve been developing this stuff for a while. If it works it will be a true victory for Vampires everywhere, so… will you help me test it?”

Draco nodded. “Of course I will. I’ll always help you.”

“And this is why you’re my favourite person at the moment.”

“But I’m not a person.”

“Touche.”

~

Draco spent that night in the library, finishing up his work. He soon grew fatigued and went to make his way back to his room. Potter was roaming the same halls, however, because for whatever reason he couldn’t seem to keep his nose in his own business.

“Potter,” Draco nodded, stopping in his tracks. The boy-who-lived obviously wanted to talk to him, might as well get it over with.

“Malfoy,” Potter responded. “I just wanted you to know that I have you figured out. I know what you are now. You don’t have to keep lying to me.”

If Draco still had a pulse, his heart would have skipped a beat. “What am I, then?”

“Say it out loud, Malfoy. Stop playing games.”

Draco kept his expression stone-cold. “If you know, you can say it yourself, right?”

“Fine.” Potter said. “Veela.”

Relief washed through all of Draco’s being. The git still wasn’t quite observant enough to figure things out. “And how are you so sure of that?” He asked.

“Hermione and I did some research. We know about your creature inheritance.”

What in bloody hell was creature inheritance? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Draco smirked in amusement as Potter’s face grew red with frustration. “You’re a Veela!” The Gryffindor insisted. “Why can’t you just admit it?”

“Can’t only women be Veela?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s different for creature inheritance.”

“Who told you that, Granger?”

“Well, yes.”

“Of course. Merlin knows you never do any work yourself.”

“That’s not true.” Potter crossed his arms over his chest. “I do plenty.”

“Like what? What do you excel in that Granger doesn’t outshine you at?”

“I thought we agreed not to act like arseholes to each other anymore.” 

Oh, right. It was so fun teasing Potter that Draco had nearly forgotten. “My sincere apologies, O Great Potter,” he said dryly.

Potter was not amused. “Sure. And for the record, I’m far better at Quidditch than Hermione. That’s something.”

“I’d almost forgotten about our Quidditch days,” Draco reminisced. “You kept beating me.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Potter confessed. “You’re pretty good, I’ll admit it.”

“I don’t need your approval, Potter.”

“I wasn’t saying you do!” He ran his fingers through his black hair, exasperated. “Can’t you just take the compliment?”

“Right. Sorry. Er… thanks.” They stared at each other for a fairly awkward moment before Draco took a sharp inhale and readied his stance to leave. “I should be on my way, then. Goodnight.”

“Night,” Potter called after him. They went their separate ways, and that was that.

~

The next morning Draco awoke with a pain racing through not just his stomach, but his entire body. Thirst.  _ That can’t be right, _ he mused, laying in bed. He was drinking Randall’s substitute. This didn’t make sense.

Without any more hesitation he leapt out of bed and got himself ready in no more than five minutes, soon heading through the quiet morning to Randall’s private quarters.

A bed-headed Randall opened the door when Draco knocked, his golden waves awry on his head and looking altogether rather meltably adorable.  _ Not the point,  _ Draco reminded his brain.

“Draco?” The professor yawned. “What are you doing up so early?”

Draco drew back as the sweet smell emanating from Randall caught his attention. If he was already yearning for human blood, what would classes be like?

“I- I don’t think your blood substitute is working,” Draco stammered, apologetically.

Randall perked up slightly at this, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean it’s not working?”

“I’m thirsty. Right now, you smell… like food, to put it simply.”

“You’ll be fine, Draco.” Randall said. “I’m sure the substance just needs time to ‘click.’”

“But—”

“Please just try it a little longer. For me?”

Draco gave in. “Alright. If I almost start draining Potter of life I’d like to hunt, though.”

“Of course. And, may I ask, why Potter specifically? Is he on your mind for a reason?”

“We talked last night, is all.”

Randall smiled, though his eyes weren’t in it. “Is he still, in your words, a ‘bloody git?’”

“I suppose.”

The green-eyed professor yawned again. “I’d better go shower. You’re welcome to stay here until classes start..”

Draco nodded. “I’d like that. Thanks.” Randall’s quarters were much nicer than his small, primarily gray room. Not to mention, everything in there smelled like the professor, which tended to be rather comforting.

As Randall went off to the bathroom Draco took a seat on a plush green chair, relaxing his muscles and trying not to focus on the wafts of sweet smells coming from throughout the castle. He knew he needed food, he knew this concoction wasn’t working but… he couldn’t disappoint Randall like that. Besides, he was probably just being overdramatic. He probably just needed to give this new nutritional source some time, like Randall had said.

Draco closed his eyes and tried to steady his breaths. Why the fuck couldn’t he just have stayed human?

~

The world around him didn’t feel as real as it used to. It was like every part of his body was slowing down to compensate for the lack of blood keeping it running. The world was even brighter than normal and everyone was even louder and all he could smell was what he knew he needed. If this kept up he really would end up killing a human.

Draco sat slumped down in History of Magic, attempting to filter out everything coming at him by covering his head with his arms. Good thing he already knew everything there was to know about the Wizarding World or he would be on a route to failing all of his classes.

The bell rang and Draco stayed in his seat. There was no way he’d be able to stay civil with everyone moving around each other in the corridors. Could he just stay here forever? If only he could stay here forever.

“Malfoy?” Potter. “You doing okay?”

Mustering all the strength he had, Draco lifted his head from his desk. “I’m fine, Potter,” he responded, though his voice quite clearly faltered. 

“You don’t look fine.”

_ No shite.  _ “You don’t look too hot yourself. Why are you giving  _ me _ hell about it?”

“Because I look a normal amount of bad.  _ You  _ look like you’re about to keel over and die.”

“Why do you care?” Draco felt his face contort as the smell of all of Hogwarts heading through the halls knocked into him.

“Do you want me to take you to Madam Pomfrey?” Potter looked legitimately concerned.

“No,” Draco said, pulling himself into a standing position. “I just need some fresh air. I’ll be fine.” He staggered out the door, leaving his books behind and Potter staring after him. 

~

_ One drink,  _ Draco decided as he found his way to the Forbidden Forest.  _ One squirrel.  _ If Randall found out his experiment had failed he’d be so disappointed. Draco just had to give it the time it needed to work. 

One small mammal later Draco went to Randall’s classroom for the remainder of his lunch break. He was welcomed in with a smile and a dramatic hand gesture.

“Draco, how are you?”

“I’ve been better, honestly.”

“What, have you been talking to Potter again?”

“Kind of, I suppose.”

Randall’s expression went dim. “I don’t trust that boy. He seems… manipulative. I’d advise that you don’t talk to him.”

Draco was caught by surprise. How could  _ Potter _ , of all people, be a danger? “What?”

“Nothing he says seems quite sincere. Surely you’ve noticed this?”

“Not really.”

“Please, Draco, do it for my mental well-being. Stay away from him?” Randall gave him a pleading look.

“Why do you care so much about who I talk to?”

“Well, Draco, I- I love you.”

Draco felt like someone had punched him in the chest and knocked out all the oxygen that he didn’t actually need. “You… what?”

Randall shook his head and busied himself with fiddling with his sleeve. “This is terribly embarrassing. I’m so sorry. Forget I said anything at all.”

“No, it’s okay.” Draco steadied himself. “I love you, too.”

A smile lit up Randall’s face. Gods, Draco would do anything to keep that smile with him always. It was the best part of his day, whenever he saw that look—especially now, due to its current cause. Never had Draco expected to hear those words coming from anyone other than his mother. Never had he once expected them to emerge from the lips as someone as perfect as the man that stood before him.

“I’m so glad to hear you say that,” Randall said. He edged closer to Draco and slipped his hand into the other’s. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear from you since the first time I saw you. Though all of our other conversations have been plenty enjoyable, I assure.”

Draco smiled like a fool. A malnourished fool with barely enough energy to keep moving forward, but a fool nonetheless. It was rather nice being a fool.

Randall closed the distance between them, warm lips on cool ones. His other hand moved to Draco’s waist and he brought them closer. Draco wanted so badly to enjoy the moment, but Randall’s blood was so warm and so fragrant. And Draco was so hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in forever! There will be more chapters in the coming weeks.


	9. My Dear

One cloudy afternoon, as classes finished up for the day, Potter approached Draco looking rather embarrassed.

“Er… Malfoy?”

“What is it, Potter?”

He fiddled with a strand of his black hair. “Um, you’re still good at Potions, right?”

“Obviously. Why?”

“Hermione’s too busy to help me and I’m failing the class. You’re the first person I could think of.”

Draco smirked. “So you want me to help you study?”

“Uh, yes? Will you?”

“Um,” Draco went silent and his mischievous smile disappeared. Randall didn’t want him to talk with Potter anymore, and he couldn’t break the trust of the one person who liked him. However, if he was seen as an associate of the Boy Who Lived, people might hate him less. He might actually have a future that wasn’t a grey abyss. Besides, what was one study session? It’s not like it made them friends. All they would talk about would be school, anyway. “Fine. I’ll do it. But just this once.”

A tentative smile crept across Potter’s face. “Thanks.”

“So when do you want to do this? It mustn't interfere with my schedule.” 

“Um… would you be available, like, right now?”

Draco sighed. “Fine.”

“Thanks again. I’ll be off to get my books but I’ll meet you in the library after, okay?”

Draco nodded, and Potter left.

~

Potter rushed into the library a few minutes after Draco had gotten there, looking a mess as per usual. He slid into the chair next to Draco and set his Potions book on the desk.

“You use the textbook to study?” Draco asked, mildly appalled.

Potter nodded, perplexed. “Well, yes. What else would I use?”

“This is why you’re failing the class. You’re unwilling to go beyond what’s expected. In this book you’ll find all the  _ required  _ information, but the best you can hope for just knowing that is an A. In your case, probably not even that.” Draco began flipping through the textbook. He had barely opened his all semester.

“Hey!” Potter said, looking like he had just been pinched. “I’ve gotten O’s before.”

“With Granger’s help, I assume?”

Potter paused. “Yes.” He responded.

“And I get perfect grades by studying alone. Clearly, we’re doing something different here.”

The Gryffindor’s volume lowered significantly. “It’s not my fault I’m stupid.”

Draco looked up from the book, surprised, his gaze meeting Potter’s. “You really think that?”

Potter scoffed. “Of course I do. All the evidence points towards yes.”

Draco sighed and shook his head. “Look, I know I’m the last person you need to hear this from, but trust me, I’ve known you longer than your friends even have.” He stared into Potter’s troubled eyes. “You’re not stupid.”

“Are you sure? Because you’ve spent the last seven years calling me that.”

“You’re not…  _ conventionally  _ smart, no, but I don’t think an idiot could have beaten the Dark Lord.”

“I didn’t really do much. I was just the face of the whole thing.”

Draco nodded. “Exactly. You’re a leader. Now, could we get to actually studying?”

“Right. Yes.”

“We’ll start with a simple quiz. If you don’t know this information off hand, you are going to fail. Understand?”

Potter nodded eagerly.

“First, what are the ingredients in the Antidote to Common Poisons?”

“Um…” Potter was visibly searching his brain for the answer. Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s, uh, Standard Ingredient, then—”

“How much Standard Ingredient?” Draco cut in.

Potter paused. “...three measures?”

“Two. What else?”

“There’s unicorn horn—one pinch—then one bezoar, and…” he trailed off, ears red with embarrassment.

Draco put his fingers to his temples. “Two mistletoe berries, Potter. The last ingredient is two mistletoe berries. This is a beginner potion! You should’ve had this entire recipe memorised  _ years  _ ago!”

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m not that good at remembering things.”

“Is there anything you do know offhand?”

“I know the Polyjuice Potion recipe.”

“May I ask why?”

Potter turned an even more vibrant shade of crimson. “I’ve just made it a few times.”

Draco sighed. “Of course you have. You’ll only remember the potions you’ve made and used, then? Reading doesn’t work for you?”

“Seems like it.”

“I think we’ve solved your problem. In Potions class we rarely brew a potion more than once, so it’s not sticking in your memory. I’ll talk to someone and try to get us the ingredients for everything you’ll need to remember. Are you fine with spending all your free time brewing potions?”

“I’d really rather—”

“Too bad. If you want a decent grade we have to do this. We’ll be using most of the potions as well, to ensure you remember their purpose.”

Potter’s eyes went wide. “So for the Antidote to Common Poisons—”

“It’s not like I’ll use a  _ deadly  _ poison on you.”

Potter shut up and nodded, though he still looked afraid.

“Meet me here tomorrow, alright?” Draco said. “Bring your textbook.”

“But Ginny and I were going to flying.”

“I guarantee that your grades are more important.” Was Potter still with the Weaslette? Made sense. Everyone knew they were going to be married as soon as they graduated. Still, something about it irked Draco, though he wasn’t sure precisely why.

“Alright,” Potter responded. “See you tomorrow then.” He closed his book and lifted it from the table, tucking it under one arm and giving Draco an awkward wave goodbye. Draco waited until he was gone before getting up himself. Now to see Randall. The gorgeous professor was probably wondering where he was.

~

“Draco!” Randall called before the Slytherin had even reached his room, earning them a couple of stares from the students who were still scattered about the corridors.

Draco’s cheeks warmed from the unwanted attention and he quickened his pace, closing the door to the classroom as soon as he and Randall were inside.

“Where’ve you been?” Randall asked. “I missed you.”

“I was-” he paused “-er, studying.”

“Draco,” Randall smiled as if he were talking to a child. “I know you. I know when you’re lying.” He took Draco’s hand in a firm grip. “So, where were you really?”

“With Potter,” Draco responded, eyes averted towards the floor. A flash of anger tore through Randall’s caring eyes. “I was helping him study.” He added. “If people see me on good terms with their saviour they might hate me less.”

Randall nodded, slow and cautious. “Admittedly a smart move. Still, you promised me you’d stay away from him. What happened to that?” His tone was a warning.

“I… I’m sorry. I said I’d help him again, but I’ll only do it one more time. After that I’ll act like he doesn’t exist. Really, I will.”

“Alright then, Draco.” He took a deep breath. In, out. “Anyway, how is the substitute working for you now?”

“It’s… better. But I’m still, I don’t know,” Draco struggled to find the right words to express such a specific feeling. “It’s like something is just…  _ missing.  _ It’s not quite the same as my usual thirst, but…” he trailed off.

“Maybe that’s the trade off,” Randall shrugged. “You no longer have to hunt but you feel a bit strange. Not that bad in comparison to being a murderer, wouldn’t you agree?”

It was more than “a bit” but Draco decided to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t want to be a murderer, Randall didn’t want him to be a murderer, and the way to keep him from taking more innocent lives was to keep drinking this admittedly foul-tasting substance. 

“If you’re not in extreme agony then… want to go back to my quarters?” Randall asked, his grin sly.

Draco felt his cheeks heating up. “Sure.” 

And there was never a better way to get his mind off of things.

~

Draco awoke the next day with a stupid grin spread across his face. The evening before had quite possibly been the best one of his life. Randall was incredibly attractive fully clothed, of course, but that amount exponentially increased when his chest was bare. Draco went beet red just thinking about it.

He took his time getting ready, taking an actual shower instead of just casting a  _ Scourgify  _ like he usually did. He combed through his blonde hair in front of the mirror, and for once didn’t utterly despise the face staring back at him.

Everything changed the moment he stepped out into the corridor. The ever-present scent coming from the Great Hall smelled much more appealing than it did usually. And Draco wasn’t even all that thirsty! What in bloody hell was happening?

He went straight to Randall, not breathing the entire walk there. It prevented some of the smell from infiltrating his lungs, but not all of it. He shouldn’t have come back to Hogwarts. He should have realised that it wasn’t going to work out well. After all, since when was putting a Vampire among a fuck ton of humans ever a good idea?

He knocked on Randall’s door with desperation. The professor opened it. “Draco?”

“It’s not working,” Draco said, shaking his head incessantly. “The smell… I can’t. It’s too much.”

Randall ushered Draco into the room. “Calm down.” He said, his hands on Draco’s shoulders. “Speak clearly. What is the problem?”

Draco steadied himself. “Everyone smells so… so appealing. I’m not thirsty but it’s like I said before. There’s something  _ missing.  _ I can’t go to classes like this. I’m… I don’t know. Sorry. You were the first person I could think of to go.”

Randall’s hands slid down Draco’s arms until he was holding both of the other man’s hands. “I must say I’m rather flattered.”

If it weren’t for the smell emanating from Randall that screamed “food,” Draco would’ve absolutely swooned. However, at the moment he wanted to sink his fangs into the professor’s neck which was a matter ever so slightly more urgent. “Can you please help me?” He asked.

“Right, of course. I apologise for getting so distracted there. I’ll work on the formula today, absolutely dedicate every spare second I have. Do you think you can make it a few hours?”

Draco bit his lip. A few hours. That wasn’t too long, but it would mean running the risk of killing someone. He didn’t want to kill anyone. But if he wasn’t at classes that would look suspicious. He might lose the newfound what-ever-it-was that he had gained with Potter. He sighed. “If you haven’t figured it out by lunch I’m going to go hunting, okay? But I’ll try to hold up until then.”

“I promise I won’t fail you, my dear,” Randall smiled.

Draco’s jaw dropped. He gaped stupidly for longer than was likely socially acceptable. “What did you just say?”

Randall’s eyes sparkled. “What do you think? Too sappy?”

“No, I- I like it.”

“Good. Your classes start in ten minutes, by the way. You might want to head out.”

“Right. Yeah. See you later?”

He nodded. “Goodbye, my dear.”


	10. Echoes

Draco managed to make it through the entire day, somehow, un-learning how to breathe in the process. It was still torture, though. Every minute stretched on for hours, every class took a decade. All throughout Charms Potter was staring at him, an expression of fear and confusion turning his face into something almost reminiscent of a gargoyle.

Though he had planned to make his way straight to Defense Against the Dark Arts after the class was (finally) over, Draco found himself trapped when Potter went straight towards him as soon as the bell rang, much to the surprise of the friends that flanked Potter on either side.

“Malfoy.” Potter greeted, though it was more of a statement. “You still don’t look okay.”

Draco scowled as he stood up from his chair. “Is that so?” He mumbled, trying his best not to inhale too much in the process.

“Yeah,” Potter said. “You look like shit.”

“I’m glad you think I care about your opinion, Potter, but I must be on my way.” Draco attempted to sidestep, only finding himself almost in Potter’s arms as the git did the same thing.

The Gryffindor took an awkward step back, distancing himself from the other. “Seriously Malfoy, you should go to Madam Pomfrey. You always look pale, but I’ve never seen you quite this sickly before. Even if you feel fine you should ask her to check, just to make sure.”

Draco scoffed and pushed past him. “Like you care if I live or die,” he muttered, and walked quickly from the room.

Randall was waiting for Draco as he arrived. He smiled and rested a palm on Draco’s lower back, leading him into the room. Draco shivered at the touch. “How are you doing now, my love?” He asked, assessing Draco’s sickly appearance. 

“Terrible,” Draco muttered. “I really can’t stay on this…  _ stuff  _ any longer.”

Randall sighed. “I suppose so. I created something new for you. There’s more iron in this batch, perhaps that will solve it.”

Draco nodded. He really didn’t think that  _ any  _ of these substitutes were going to work but then again, what if one of them did? In that case it would be terrible to turn it down. And there was Randall, gorgeous, intelligent Randall Knight. Draco just couldn’t let him down.

Randall offered a small bottle to Draco. “Here. See if this helps.”

Draco took it and drank every last drop. It tasted more metallic than the stuff before did and had an uncanny similarity to real blood, but it was still very much  _ not  _ real blood. Draco knew already that this wouldn’t work either. He’d suck it up for one more day though before telling Randall that. He couldn’t let him down so fast.

“You can spend your lunch break in here with me, right?” Randall asked, moving so that he stood shoulder to shoulder with Draco and taking the Vampire’s hand.

“Of course.” Draco responded. “Where else would I go?” He rested his head on Randall’s shoulder, ignoring the tempting scent best he could. Randall was the only person he had. And he was the best person Draco had ever met, so why didn’t it feel like enough?

Randall sighed. “You’re amazing, you know,” he said. Draco smiled. “You’re smart and gorgeous and since you’re a Vampire you have so many abilities most do not. If everyone wasn’t so naturally hateful towards Slytherins and non-humans you could probably end up as Minister of Magic. And you’d make a much better leader than those in charge now.”

“No I wouldn’t.” Draco said. “I can’t even hold myself up some days. How could I possibly lead the entire Wizarding World? Besides, that’s Potter’s destiny, not mine.”

“Not with that attitude,” Randall said. “You don’t think as highly of yourself as you should. And sure, you may not be a great Minister on your  _ own,  _ but, well,  _ I’m  _ here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah. You are.”

Randall shifted so that they were facing each other and took both Draco’s hands. An expression of exhilaration and excitement spread across his face, captivating Draco. “Together, my dear, together we could be so powerful. We could take out those idiots in charge and build a new world, a better world. The Ministry thinks it right to throw anyone who doesn’t agree with them in Azkaban, but with our combined power we could change that. We could bring back magic, bring back pure knowledge in its raw form and make it available to anyone who wants it. Us Wizards, we are so much  _ better  _ than the Muggles, everyone knows that but no one will admit it. If we showed them our power we’d be  _ helping  _ them. Don’t you want that, Draco? Don’t you want a world where we could be free?”

Draco watched the older man speak, mesmerised by his enthusiasm and the cadence of his words but frightened by the message in them. In a different life his speech might have sounded like the ravings of a madman but there was something so unequivocally true about what he said. He was right. Draco did want to be free.

“Draco?” Randall asked, soft and gentle. “Do you want that?”

Draco hesitated a moment, then wrapped his arms around Randall’s neck and kissed him deeply. “Yes,” he said after pulling away. “Yes I do.”

Randall smiled, his eyes sparkling. “You won’t regret it.”

Draco leaned into Randall, burying his face in the professor’s shoulder, letting himself be held by safe, strong arms. “Lunch is almost over,” he mumbled, feeling hazy and distant from the rest of the world. “I should go.” He slid away from Randall, already missing his warmth.

Randall smiled and gave a courteous nod. “Goodbye.”

Draco turned to leave. “Oh, one more thing. Remember how I told you I’m helping Potter study? To get on his good side? I need the ingredients for the Antidote to Common Poisons. And a common poison. If we could brew here that would also be great, since you have a nice cauldron, but you don’t have to. Sorry.”

Randall’s grin dissipated. “Potter.” He said tersely, snapping back into the real world. “Right. I’ll help you, I suppose, but this is the last time you’re going to help  _ him _ , correct?”

“Yes. Of course it is. Um, thank you. I should go.”

Randall nodded, his expression still bitter. He seemed to hate Potter even more than the Dark Lord had.

~

Class ended for the day and Draco was in utter agony. He was starving to death; he needed to drink from a living creature. Randall would be upset, though, and he was meant to tutor Potter today. Did he even have enough time to hunt? Gods, it didn’t matter. He felt like he was only minutes away from killing someone. It would definitely look suspicious but that was the risk he had to take.

Draco slipped out through the courtyard and made his way to the Forbidden Forest, not running until he was sure he was out of sight. It strangely felt good to be out here again, the wind in his hair and the scents of the forest surrounding him, watching shades of green and brown race by. He found a deer almost immediately and drank it dry. The relief of finally having some sustenance almost outweighed the guilt of killing the creature. Almost.

One deer wasn’t quite enough but Potter was probably wondering where he was. He  _ Scourgify _ -d himself to get rid of any dirt or bloodstains and went back inside, hurrying to the library where Potter was waiting, rocking a bit on his chair and staring up at the high shelves of books.

“Malfoy!” Potter exclaimed at a volume much too high for a library as Draco walked towards him. “There you are. I’ve been waiting for, like, I don’t know. A while. Where’ve you been?”

“I had to do something.” Draco said, avoiding Potter’s gaze. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now and you’re going to learn the Antidote to Common Poisons.”

“Sure,” Potter said, his enthusiasm gone and replaced with a guarded tone. He shook himself every so slightly and brightened up. “You said we were going to brew it and you were going to poison me, right? It’ll be just like old times.” The remark was clearly a joke but Draco winced nonetheless. Every mention of his past was a dagger aimed for his heart.

Potter’s eyes widened, noticing Draco’s tenseness. “Uh, sorry.” He said. “I just mean, you know, those petty fights we used to have. They were sort of entertaining, honestly. My only two hobbies back then were Quidditch and pissing you off.” He ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up even more. Draco had noticed that was a nervous habit he had.

Draco allowed himself to grin ever so slightly and lifted his chin to look at Potter. “Likewise.”

“So, the potion? We’re going to try to make it, right?”

“Yes. Ra- Professor Knight has allowed us to use his classroom for potion brewing and has found us some ingredients.”

Potter chuckled. “He’s the one you’re shagging, right?”

Draco suddenly regretted drinking that deer. He had enough blood in his body to blush now. “Don’t be preposterous.” He muttered, turning away from Potter. “Come on. Do you want to learn the potion or not?”

“Right. Yeah.”

Draco hurried down the corridor, his footsteps echoing, making sure to stay a good amount ahead of Potter. Was it really that obvious? Did  _ everyone  _ know about him and Randall? Then again, why should he care? Why shouldn’t he be proud that the wonderful man was his-- was his something. It was a little weird, he supposed, since Randall was a teacher and he was a student. McGonagall might step in to tear them apart. Yes, keeping quiet about their relationship was definitely the better option. Still, why did Potter know? Obviously Randall hadn’t told him, and neither had Draco. But he couldn’t ask how Potter knew without giving away the fact that they really were together. Well,  _ were  _ they together? He really had to talk to Randall about all this.

Draco pushed open the door to Randall’s classroom where a clean cauldron and all the ingredients they needed were neatly set out, as well as a small vial of poison. Randall was there too, leaning against the wall on the left side of the room, his honey-coloured hair falling in front of his eyes.

“Draco,” he greeted with a nod, showing no emotion at all. He got like this when he didn’t like something. It was a sort of cold anger that terrified Draco to the bone.

“Professor,” Draco mimicked the nod. 

Potter, who had just arrived, stood lamely at Draco’s side, watching the two other men stare at each other. “So, uh,” he said after a moment, breaking the deafening silence. “Are we going to try that potion?”

Draco nodded, though his eyes were still locked with Randall’s. He held the gaze a second longer before breaking away. “Right then, let’s get started. Take that mortar and pestle and crush a Bezoar.”

“How many?”

“I said  _ a  _ Bezoar, didn’t I? One.”

“Got it.”

Randall was still watching them, his eyes like stone. Draco did his best to ignore the Professor and turn his attention to Potter.

“Done with that yet, Potter?” Draco asked. He moved so that he couldn’t see Randall anymore.

“Uh, yeah.” Potter said. He moved the pestle. “Is it ground fine enough?”

“Yes. Now, do you remember how many measures of that you’re supposed to add?”

“Four, right?”

“Yes. Four.” Even turned so he couldn’t see him Draco could feel Randall’s gaze boring into his back. When it was just him and Randall things were easy between them but any other people at all seemed to shake their dynamic, especially when said person was Potter. 

“I add two measures of Standard Ingredient next, right Malfoy?”

“Erm, yes.” Randall had moved closer to them so it was harder for Draco to ignore him. He was leaning against a desk, smirking. What was he trying to do?

“What next? How hot do you heat it?”

“Medium temperature, five seconds,” Draco mumbled. Randall and Potter were both looking right at him. Two pairs of green eyes belonging to two very different men. Draco subconsciously took a step back towards the door. He needed to hide, he needed to get out. The room was closing in on him despite the high ceilings. Where was there to go? He had to leave, he had to leave right now.

“What next?” Potter’s voice felt like it was coming from a memory. Draco wasn’t there anymore. Where was he? He had to get out. The walls were closing in on him.

“Um,” Draco spoke against numb lips, “I’m sorry.” He turned around, almost falling over, and left the room, vaguely comprehending Potter’s stunned expression and Randall’s look of hate directed towards the Gryffindor. He walked a few steps into the corridor before hitting a wall and letting himself collapse onto the stone floor. He rested his forehead against his knees and closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. After a few moments like that urgent footsteps alerted him that Randall had followed him. He should be glad to see his… his whatever they were, but for some reason Randall’s presence seemed to tie his stomach into an even tighter knot.

“Draco?” Draco felt the warmth of his body as Randall sat down beside him. “What was that?”

Draco shook his head. He didn’t  _ know.  _ And he couldn’t talk right now anyway. The knot in his stomach had cut out his tongue.

Randall sighed. “Draco, can you  _ please  _ talk to me?”

Draco shook his head again and shifted away from Randall.

More footsteps sounded through the hallway. Draco knew it was Potter before he spoke. “Is Draco okay?”

“I don’t know,” said Randall. His voice was back to being icy. “He refuses to talk to me.”

“Hey, here’s a thought,” Potter mused, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “How about you stop treating him like a child and leave him alone for a bit. Or are you too much of a bloody possessive psychopath to do that?”

Randall stood up immediately. His anger was tangible. Draco turned his head to witness whatever spectacle was about to occur. “You have no right to talk to me like that.” He said, his tone threatening.

“Oh, I don’t?” Potter crossed his arms over his chest. “And what right to you have to fucking stare at Draco all the time? Am I the only one who thinks that’s creepy?”

Randall’s elegant fingers curled into a fist. Draco sat up all the way. “Because I  _ care  _ about him, alright? That a good enough answer for you?” The professor looked like he might kill Potter any moment.

Potter scoffed. “Thought so. You obviously want me to leave but-” he locked eyes with Draco “-I want you to know, Draco, that you don’t have to be with him. The world doesn’t hate you as much as you think they do, Draco. You can leave him if you want to.”

Randall stepped in front of Draco, facing Potter. His breathing was loud and uneven but he had once again made the anger invisible on his face. “ _ Go. Away.” _

Potter shook his head and took one more look at Draco, then left, running his fingers through his hair as he made his way down the corridor, footsteps echoing up the walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry this took so long for me to write, I've been procrastinating at everything recently. Based on my recent pattern I suppose I'll see you in another two months.
> 
> Happy Pride Month everyone!


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